


Ink Pots and Foxgloves

by queerwriterbee



Series: Stickball Junkies [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Bisexual Kevin Day, Boys Kissing, F/F, F/M, Flowers, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Neighbors, Polyamory, THIS IS A HAPPY FIC, Tattoo Artist Neil, Tattoos, Threesome - M/M/M, also no drake, florist andrew, fuck drake, heads up for that, just relationship, kind of, not sexual though, rating and tags might be updated as I go, soft andreil, the only angst will be pining and sexual tension and my babies healing, they both just graduated, though they will be discussed so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-08-07 01:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16398521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerwriterbee/pseuds/queerwriterbee
Summary: {***FIC CURRENTLY ON HIATUS UNTIL AUTHOR GETS HIS SHIT TOGETHER***}It's been two years since Neil left behind his life of running and fear, two years since the Wymack's took him in as their foster child, two years since he began his new life in Palmetto.It's been three years since Andrew became an emancipated minor, three years since he discovered his twin brother's and cousin's existence, three years since he started at Bee's Flowers and Apothecary.Now the two young men are neighbors on the top floor of the Court Boulevard Suites, with Neil working at the Foxhole Tattoo and Piercing Parlor on the second floor and Andrew at Bee's on the first and their lives are about to change in ways they never could have anticipated.(Or: my try at the Tattoo Artist/Florist AU with some good Andreil fun)





	1. 369 Court Boulevard - Apartment 4, Palmetto, South Carolina

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to try my hand at this AU and while I really love my future/kid fic I'm working on for Andreil right now I was getting the itch to write some pining teenager lovey dovey shit soooooo yeah here this is. I've literally been thinking about this AU every night before I fall asleep for the last two months so I really hope it turns out ok haha. 
> 
> Comments and kudos always welcome! Enjoy. :)

Even after two years of living a relatively normal life, free from the threat of his father and the constant need to run, Neil couldn’t help but marvel at how far he’d come. He often had to stop to take a moment and remind himself that this wasn’t a dream, that he was awake and this was his life now. He had a future without knives or faux identities or moving to a new city every month. He had a future. Period. 

He was having one of those moments as he placed the last of his boxes onto the floor of his new apartment. His possessions were still meager, but instead of a single duffle bag Neil now needed three cardboard boxes, two reusable grocery bags, and leather messenger bag that Wymach had bought him as a present (as well as a cell phone that Neil honestly never planned on using) for his high school graduation. The duffle was long gone, thrown away even after years of loyalty. 

But, it had needed to go. With the duffle remained those straggling urges to run at the first sign of trouble. And Neil didn’t want that life anymore. It would take a lot more work than throwing away the duffle and the ratty clothes it used to hold, but it was a step in the right direction. That’s what mattered. 

The apartment wasn’t much--a simple studio apartment on the top floor of a building in the historical district of Palmetto. In the nineteenth century it would have been the home to one of the eager workers hoping to make it rich at the York Gold Mine. Its age showed in every feature of the small space. 

The room couldn’t be more than 400 square feet. There were no separating walls except the one for the tiny bathroom that contained a toilet, a sink, and a cabinet and there was no kitchen area. A single window led to the metal fire escape going up the side of the old brick building. The floors were an aged, light hardwood. It wasn’t much, but it was Neil’s. 

His floor had four apartments, two on either side of a community kitchen and shower. It wasn’t ideal, having to share these amenities, but there was only one other tenant in the building and Wymack had helped him find a cheap mini fridge, microwave, and electric kettle. With any luck, he wouldn’t have to use the kitchen at all. 

The shower would be unavoidable, but there were private stalls and if Neil could figure out the habits of his neighbor he could probably avoid any awkward encounters. He had enough experience hiding his scars if he had to anyway. He wasn’t overly concerned. 

He hadn’t brought much furniture with him. He didn’t see much need and he didn’t really have the money for more than his full mattress, three drawer dresser, white porcelain lamp, floor fan, and bright orange corduroy loveseat. He didn’t really plan on having guests beside Wymack, Abby, and Kevin and it wasn’t like he required much more. It would do. 

He had one plate, one bowl, one fork, one spoon, one knife, one mug, and one reusable water bottle that he kept in a plastic crate beside the mini fridge. His toiletries were in a shower caddie to go in the bathroom cabinet, alongside two body towels and three wash rags. He had one set of sheets that currently sat folded up along with a (also bright orange) duvet and a single pillow in a box beside his bare mattress. His clothes and other minor possessions (his bag, phone charger, pictures in frames that Abby had given him, a digital alarm clock) were in the third and final box. 

It wasn’t much, but Neil felt immensely pleased with it. 

The apartment was directly above his new place of employment-- The Foxhole Tattoo and Piercing Studio where he’d be working as an apprentice under Wymack. On the ground floor was Bee’s Flowers and Apothecary where Abby worked as a massage therapist. It was away from the home he’d known for the last two years, but his family would still be close by. 

Neil’d been shocked when Wymack had offered him the apprenticeship the final semester of his senior year. Wymack and Abby had taken him to foster after everything happened--his father finally catching up to him and his mother in Charleston, driving them to South Carolina to have Lola torture him while he watched his mother die slowly, painfully at the hands of his father, his Uncle Stuart and the FBI’s intervention that ended Nathan’s life and his reign of terror over Neil’s life. He hadn’t expected to come to care for the couple or their son, Kevin. He hadn’t thought he had it in him to let anyone in anymore. They’d proved him wrong and he was so grateful for it. 

Wymack had seen Neil’s raw talent in visual art when he’d enrolled in the local high school and needed to pick a fine arts credit. Kevin was in the advanced studio art class and Neil had always enjoyed doodling, so he figured taking the drawing I class couldn’t hurt. By the end of the semester he had Wymack and his teacher encouraging him to move into the advanced studio class, skipping all the other art classes in between, and Kevin deciding to take him under his pushy and annoying wing. 

Neil had been apprehensive at first, but he hadn’t felt so excited about something in so long that he through caution to the wind and enrolled in the studio class the next semester. He had a lot of catching up to do in regards to learning to use other mediums beside lead pencil, charcoal, and ink pen, but he didn’t mind. He’d always been a quick study and he found that once he’d got a hang of the other  required mediums--watercolor, chalk pastels, acrylic and oil paint, colored pencils, and graphite (fuck graphite)--his teacher didn’t really care what he used for his portfolio as long as it was good and showed a little bit of breadth. 

By his senior showcase he’d won three Scholastic Golden Keys, the best in show for charcoal, ink, and watercolor at the state level for the South Carolina state art show, and been a spotlight artist in the school literary magazine two years in a row. He had colleges from all over the south east offering him scholarships and even some on the west coast. 

But, when asked by his teachers, academic advisor, foster parents, and Kevin, he’d made it clear that he wasn’t interested in university. He’d just got settled in Palmetto and he liked it there. He was tired of moving constantly from state to state, city to city. Now that he’d had a taste of stability, of consistency, he didn’t want to let it go. 

His teachers had been insufferable about it, going on and on about ‘lost potential’ and ‘opportunities of a lifetime,’ hounding him weekly, sometimes daily about making the ‘smart choice’ about his future. They were almost as bad as Kevin. 

Wymack, however, had seen things differently. He knew how important it was for Neil to make his own choices, to keep the security he’d found in Palmetto. He also knew that school wasn’t something that Neil particularly enjoyed or thrived in outside of art, mathematics, and languages. Wymack believed in second chances, in giving potential room to grow--but he believed that it had to be on the terms of the person taking the chance. It was no different for Neil. 

In his time with Wymack, Abby, and Kevin, Neil had spent quite a lot of it in his foster father’s tattoo studio. He found the buzzing of the tattooing machines calming, the art on the walls mesmerizing, and the employees and their clients fascinating and entertaining. Allison and Matt especially. 369 Court Boulevard had become just as much a safe haven to him as the Wymack household was. 

So, when it was half way through Neil’s final semester of high school and it was clear that he was sticking to his guns and not going to college, Wymack offered him the apprenticeship. 

“Your art is incredible. Whether freestyling or on reference, each and every one of your pieces have wowed everyone around you--I’ve even had clients ask if you were offering any of your designs for tattooing or taking commissions. I know you have some issues with touch, but I think with the right training you could have a real talent and real future in this, Neil.” 

It’d taken a while for him to accept the offer, but by the time he’d walked the stage and got his diploma, he’d signed a contract with The Foxhole for a one year paid apprenticeship starting in June with a guaranteed entry level position as an artist afterwards. Allison and Matt had freely rejoiced, Abby and Wymack expressed her pride and happiness, and Kevin begrudgingly admitted it, “wouldn’t be a complete waste of your talents.”

Now it was September, Kevin was away in Savannah to begin his double major bachelor of fine arts in art history and painting at Savannah College of Art and Design, Neil had been working under Wymack and training as a tattoo artist for three full months, and had finally saved up enough money to move out. Wymack and Abby had been sad to see him leave their home, had assured him that there was no pressure for him to move out if he didn’t want to, but they didn’t stop him. As much as Neil had grown to care for the couple, he valued his independence and wanted to start his new life on his own terms. 

Neil wasn’t normally an optimist, but he couldn’t help but feel that this was the start of something great. 

“Hey.”

A deep, monotone voice pulled Neil out of his reverie and back to the present. He turned to face his open doorway and was met with bored, hazel eyes, pale, blonde hair, a strong square jaw, and five feet of muscle clad in all black clothing.

“You’re the new renter,” the man said--though he couldn’t be more than a year or two older than Neil. It wasn’t a question. It was a confirmation of a fact that he clearly already new. 

Neil nodded, keeping his expression neutral and his gaze fixed on the other’s. 

“Neil Josten.” 

The man took a sip from the chipped mug in his hand, blatantly looking Neil up and down with an assessing gaze. 

“I know,” he said and turned back to his room across the hall, shutting the door firmly behind him. 

Neil stared after him for a moment longer than he’d like to admit, his mind already whirring with the mystery of him. 

He shook his head and turned back to his own apartment. He had unpacking to do and work in an hour. He could preoccupy himself with his new neighbor another time. 


	2. Chapter 2: 369 Court Boulevard - Apartment 3, Palmetto, South Carolina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bee had warned Andrew months in advanced that he would no longer be the sole tenant of the Court Boulevard Suites that coming fall. That hadn’t made the change anymore pleasant or anymore welcome. 
> 
> Though, the new renter’s icy blue eyes, lean muscled runner’s form, and intriguingly scarred face definitely softened the blow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY SO ITS BEEN A WHILE

Bee had warned Andrew months in advance that he would no longer be the sole tenant of the Court Boulevard Suites that coming fall. That hadn’t made the change anymore pleasant or welcome. 

Though, the new renter’s icy blue eyes, lean, muscled runner’s form, and intriguingly scarred face definitely softened the blow. 

Andrew had been living in apartment number three in 369 Court Boulevard for two years, in Palmetto for three. The time felt simultaneously incredibly long and ridiculously short. 

Yes, the last three years had felt dragging, dull--even with all the changes they brought--because that’s how life always felt for Andrew: droll, painful, and long. 

However, when he thought back to where he was three years before-- still in juvie, not knowing that he had any blood tied family members (let alone an identical twin), a ward of the state with no plans or aspirations for the future--it seemed impossible that such drastic developments could happen in such a short amount of time. 

Though there were things that had been left unchanged: his apathy, his temper, his impeccable memory, his lack of wanting, his lack of regret for punishing those who deserved it. Drake remained in a coma from the force of Andrew’s fists, Tilda lay six feet under from a convenient overdose, and he didn’t feel anything toward these facts but a faint swell of pride and satisfaction. 

So many things had happened in the last three years. Andrew had found his freedom from both juvie and the foster system in his status as an emancipated minor, freedom from the public education system thanks to online schooling and an early graduation. He’d found promises to uphold in his newfound brother, promises based on principles to uphold in himself. He’d found reasons to get out of bed in his work at Bee’s and Eden’s Twilight everyday, in hot chocolate and ice cream and the occasional hook up in the staff room of the bar. 

And somehow, the change brought with his new neighbor was the one that stirred inside him the most, moved him in a way that he hadn’t felt in so long he wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever felt it at all. 

“Good morning, Andrew.”

Andrew grunted and nodded his hello to Bee as he walked into the main lobby of the flower shop. He was working a six hour shift there that day, ending at 4pm, and then another three hour shift at Eden’s starting at 11pm. He hoped that the work would keep him from dwelling too intensely on the strange neighbor boy, but he doubted it. His mind had a habit of being particularly persistent when it came to intrusive thoughts. 

“Sleep well?” Bee asked, knowing full well that he hadn’t. Andrew simply looked at her, conveying this sentiment with a raised brow. Bee hummed in acknowledgment.

It was one of those ‘Reiki Master’ (an overhyped ‘spiritual’ shrink with extra touching and rocks, in Andrew’s mind) things that she carried over into her everyday interactions. Being able to read someone even as carefully withdrawn and blank faced as Andrew, taking it upon herself to prod at them until they did something stupid like ‘addressing their demons’ or whatever. It was annoying as hell, but Andrew couldn’t honestly claim he hated it anymore. 

Bee’s outwardly fronted as a flower shop, but they offered so many more services than that. Bee was an extensively trained reiki master, shamanic apprentice, and practicing green witch. She used her talents to conduct reiki sessions with clients (ie. aural cleansings, chakra balancing, dream work, etc.), holding open meditation circles every Sunday afternoon, and offering homemade potions, energy charging/cleansing teas, smudging sticks and sprays, and crystals for sale. Really, the flowers were only a minor part of the business--and even those were an extension of Bee’s green witchcraft and shamanic training. 

In addition to Bee’s goods and services, they had Abby Winfield-Wymack on staff as their resident massage therapist and nutritionist, and Renee Walker--Bee’s reiki apprentice--who assisted Bee in her more spiritual services as well as Andrew in sales and advising of customers. 

Honestly, Andrew still had no idea how he’d been roped into working at the shop or why Bee thought he was suitable for employment, but he’d lasted three years without getting sacked so he supposed he was doing something right. 

The only thing he really had to offer the shop though was working the register and answering customers’ questions about the flowers, crystals, and Bee’s concoctions. All that he’d picked up from Bee and her witchiness were the basics of her practice, what he needed to know for sales, and how to read tarot. 

He never offered this last skill to customers--he’d only learned because he found the aesthetic of each of the seventy-eight cards appealing and didn’t have anything better to do on particularly slow days in the shop. Honestly, he found most of the stuff Bee and the others believed and practiced to be frivolous nonsense and probably would have quit a long time ago if he didn’t find Bee to be slightly more than tolerable and somewhat enjoy being around the flowers. 

Plus, it paid absurdly well for a retail job and required very little responsibility on Andrew’s part. 

Bee stood up from where she’d been sitting amongst the calla lilies, cross legged on her meditation pillow. She’d been doing a reading--Andrew’s favorite of her tarot decks (it featured many skulls in the designs) laid spread out in front of the pillow with three purple and one pink candle lit and an array of crystals among them. 

She rummaged in the walk in refrigerator that held her potions yet to be shelved before returning with a transparent, amber colored glass bottle grasped between her two hands. The liquid inside sloshed about as she walked, kept contained by the cork plugging the top. Andrew could make out some sort of petals in the liquid--perhaps rose or hibiscus. Bee was rather fond of those in her potion work. 

“The cards seemed to think you would need this today,” she told Andrew, placing it in front of where he’d situated himself at the register. 

Andrew raised a brow, but downed the potion regardless. He’d long stopped questioning or resisting Bee’s suggestions. It wasn’t worth the effort, and often he got a sweet drink or snack out of it. 

Andrew tilted his head, contemplating the flavor. 

“Carnation, clover, borage blossom, cocoa, cashew milk, raw cane sugar,” Andrew paused. “Charged with angelite or apophyllite.. Maybe both.”

Bee smirked. “You deny your affinity for potion work yet insist on displaying it at every chance you get.”

Andrew shrugged, drinking the rest of the potion before handing the bottle back to the older woman. 

“Maybe I’ve just memorized your recipes and do it to fuck with you and Renee.”

Bee hummed. “A possibility. Though, I don’t think so.”

“Believe what you want,” Andrew said dismissively, pulling the book he hid under the register desk for slow shifts.

Mere moments later Andrew felt the presence of another person in the shop, though he hadn’t heard the front door bell jingle and he knew for a fact that Renee and Abby were already at work in the back. He looked up from his reading--moving only his eyes, not his head-- and was only slightly surprised to find his new neighbor at the foot of the stairs leading to the upper levels of the building. 

The boy looked awkward and flushed, gazing about the room as if looking for something but not know what that something was. He had a sketchbook tucked under his arm and a lead pencil tucked behind his ear, peeking out from the unruly, red curls sprouting from his head. 

“Can I help you?” Andrew asked in the most bored tone he could muster. 

The boy--Neil, Andrew recalled-- snapped his head in the direction of Andrew’s voice. His expression was both startled and relieved. Andrew could only guess that the latter was a result of being distracted from his search for the unknown. 

“Um. Maybe.”

Neil shuffled his way across the shop to Andrew’s register, chewing on his lip and his gaze flitting about the space. Andrew set down his book and raised a brow in prompt for the boy to continue. 

“I’m apprenticing under Wymack in the tattoo studio upstairs… he told me to come down here and find three items and to freestyle them into a tattoo design.” Neil rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I guess I don’t really know where to begin. There’s a lot more here than just flowers.”

Andrew snorted. He wasn’t wrong. 

Andrew heaved a sigh as he removed himself from his cozy seat behind the counter to assist the latest intrigue in his life. He turned his stare on the redheaded mess of a human before him, taking him in fully. 

While Andrew didn’t necessarily believe in the auras that Bee and Renee talked about, he couldn’t deny that people gave off certain energies. As someone who had grown up constantly thinking about survival, honing into these energies was a skill that Andrew had near mastered. 

Neil at first glance was, honest to god, a goddamn mess. His dark red curls were frizzy and untamed, falling into his face and sticking up in all directions.  His clothes were far too big for his slight frame and slim runner’s physique. They also looked like he’d owned them for far too long and wore them far too often; the worn fabrics were faded and speckled with small tears. If Andrew had his way, they’d be tossed out and replaced as soon as possible. 

Those ice blue eyes were wide and shadowed by thick, ginger lashes. They would look childlike with their doe shape if it weren’t for intensity they held. The scars on his face--and upon further inspection, his arms and what Andrew could see of his collarbone as well--only further detracted from this juvenile potential. The fine, yet sharp bone structure of his face (that Andrew was sure would only become more defined with age) further added to the severity of his appearance.

In his posture, Andrew could see tension, frantic energy just barely reigned in. Energy that screamed, “rabbit,” “runaway,” “survivor.” But, he could also see in this tension the boy held, this energy was one that Neil was trying to fight--probably had been fighting for a while now. That, more than anything thus far, was what really held Andrew’s interest. 

“Um,” Neil started. “Is there something on my face?”

In lieu of answering, Andrew walked purposefully toward the display of rhododendron and plucked out a few of the blossoms. He next moved to the display of crystals, handing the flowers to Neil beforehand, running his gaze intently over the semi-precious stones. 

“Does color matter at all in your design?”

Neil chewed his lip--an unfortunately attractive habit that already had Andrew hating him. 

“I haven’t decided yet. Though, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to keep it in mind?”

Andrew nodded and immediately reached for a raw hematite, hexagonal cut jasper, and sliced petrified wood. He handed the crystals to Neil, the boy handling them like he feared he’d break them by simply touching them, and then made a beeline for the tarot decks. He grabbed one of his favorites--a set of major arcana by Stasia Burrington-- and added it to the collection in Neil’s arms. 

He was planning on concluding his search with those, but when he turned to fully face his new neighbor, he spotted the foxgloves over Neil’s shoulder. He crossed to them immediately, grabbing a single flower and handing it to Neil.

“There. Now run off and get to your doodling, little rabbit.” 

Neil frowned at the name, but nodded in acknowledgement. 

“Do you want me to pay for these? Or would it be alright to just return them once I’m done?” he asked. “I’ll stay in the shop the whole time. Wymack doesn’t need me for anything else today.”

“Do what you want,” Andrew replied, turning his back to the boy and heading back to his register. “I’m sure Bee won’t care either way.”

 

For the rest of the afternoon, Andrew tried and failed to ignore Neil as he worked on his design. As much as he wanted to let the boy remain in his periphery and attend to business as usual, Andrew kept finding his gaze drawn to him, intrigued by his mannerisms and focus. The lip biting was definitely a problem.

Everytime Neil rearranged the objects, everytime he furrowed his brows and looked off between strokes of his pencil, everytime he pondered the objects before him, Andrew found himself wanting. Wanting to know his motivations in composition, his thoughts on Andrew’s selection, why he was even apprenticing with Wymack in the first place. 

Despite it all, Andrew at least managed to stay seated and to himself (excluding the rare moments he was aiding a customer) for the full four hours that Neil sat in the corner of the shop, sketching away on his clearly well used sketchbook. 

Just when Andrew felt that he couldn’t stand it anymore, that he had to satisfy his curiosity and approach the boy, Neil stood up from his seat on the floor, objects and sketchbook in hand, and headed over to Andrew’s register. He ducked his head and pretended to be enthralled with his book, not willing to give himself up yet to the redhead. 

When Neil dropped his things on the counter, Andrew took his time finishing the sentence he’d just reread five times, closing his book, putting it away, and finally looking up to address him. Andrew raised a brow and Neil gave him a small smile in return. 

“I think I want to buy these,” he said. 

Andrew nodded and rung up the items, taking Neil’s card, bagging his purchases, and handing him the receipt in silence. 

Neil nodded his head, said, “thanks, Andrew,” and turned to head back up the stairs to the Foxhole. 

Andrew had only gotten a glimpse of the designs--as in, more than one, several-- before Neil turned to leave, but it was enough. They were stunning, captivating, absolutely thrilling to behold. 

This was definitely going to be a problem. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look up the meaning behind the flowers and crystals to get a feel for what Andrew was trying to say in choosing them for Neil ;) also I highly recommend checking out the tarot deck mentioned by Stasia Burrington it's stunning. 
> 
> Hope I didn't offend anyone with Andrew's opinion on Bee's business. His feelings are not mine.


End file.
